


Sparks fly

by Alphawave



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Drinking Games, Erotic Electrostimulation, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Kim accidentally reveals a few kinky secrets after a drinking game. Harry decides to return the favour.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	Sparks fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candyriot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyriot/gifts).



> This is for candyriot, who graciously gave me a free copy of Disco Elysium. I love you, and I'm so happy I got this, and I hope this 9000+ electrostim fic is repayment enough.

They don't call Harry the Human Can Opener for nothing. He's insidious, the way he crawls under your skin. With every moment you spend in his presence, you reveal a little bit more about yourself. With every second you bask in his atmosphere, your walls start to crumble. The air of cool you've carefully maintained for 20 odd years, the mystique, it all starts to fall away.

And the worst part is, a part of you wants him to take you apart. To take the bonnet of your motor carriage and rummage around through your engine. You don't let anyone touch your motor carriage, and you still don't, but Harry's come to the closest. You don't like to imagine all the ways he can ruin it.

He takes you to a karaoke bar, because of course he does. Even when he doesn't drink, he likes the atmosphere, the joy of singing his heart out, the thrill of being around like-minded drunks trying to forget their struggles. Not to say he's not drinking tonight, but he's been following your example. One glass of alcohol only per day, and it cannot be on the job, no exceptions. You've punished him in the past for breaking that rule, and not in the kinky way either. Most of the time he contends himself with cheap wine, but tonight, as he returns to your usual corner table, you see he has two glasses in his hands. Amber liquid sloshes and swirls against cubic icebergs, coating the world through the glass in sepia tones. He plops down in his chair, nearly spilling his drinks, and hands you one of the glasses.

Harry has a shit-eating grin on his face. Not that horrible pastiche of The Expression™, but something more genuine, and more dangerous. It's the grin you typically associate with the bedroom; or more specifically the kinds of activities two not-straight men might do naked together in a bedroom. Or a shower. Or the living room couch. Or, on one memorable occasion, on the bonnet of Jean's motorcarriage (there was absolutely no way you were going to get frisky on, or in, your prized Coupris Kineema sports edition).

You force yourself not to smile. What does Harry have planned this time?

“I don't drink,” you say, keeping your gaze level with Harry's eyes. You take a quick sniff of your drink. “Least of all Gold rum.”

“Pale Aged Gold rum from Mesque,” Harry corrects. “You sure you won't have one little drink with me, Kim? I've thought up a game.”

You quirk up one eyebrow. “A game?”

“Yeah, a game. And it's called _Truth or Drink_.”

The corners of your lips pull up into something resembling a smile. “Let me guess. We're going to take turns asking personal questions, and if we don't want to answer, we drink?”

“Glad you're picking up real fast,” Harry laughs. He leans forward on the table. “Interested?”

“This is just an excuse for you to ask me sensitive questions that I would never reveal to you otherwise.”

“So you're chicken, is that it? Afraid of what I'll ask?”

That inner voice inside you, the one that demands you be in charge at all times, is speaking to you. And it's telling you that you cannot take this lying down. Another part of you is saying it's a trap. An obvious trap, but a trap regardless, and Harry is trying to coax you in.

You grit your teeth and say, “I don't play childish games, detective.”

“What's childish about alcohol between _friends?_ Could it be you're scared of what I'm going to ask?”

You scoff. “Of course not,” you lie.

“That's what it is, isn't it? You're afraid what I'm going to dig up. What dirty little secrets I'll learn from you.” He leans forward so that you can feel his acidic breath on your ear, fogging up one side of your glasses. “Don't worry,” he whispers. “I won't tell a soul. And I've got my own fair share of dirty secrets.”

It's a trap, and you know it, but his hot breath caresses the shell of your ear and his lucid, dazzling eyes gaze back at you firmly, and you feel yourself snap. You let out a quiet sigh, the tiniest sign of defeat. “Fine.” You slide the drink from one hand to the other, the pinpricks of cool water droplets staining the palm of your gloves. “What are the rules?”

Harry returns to his seat to your relief (and disappointment). “As you said it is, Kim. We take turns asking questions. You gotta answer the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or take a sip.” He flicks his fingers at the glass of his own drink, making a small chime. “I got the booziest thing on the menu. One drink is guaranteed to get weak men drunk.”

“You're not suggesting I'm weak, detective?”

There's a twinkle in Harry's eye. “Of course not. Although I must admit, I've never seen you drink. Could it be a strong, cool guy like you is weak to a bit of alcohol?”

He knows you can't handle your drink well. But does he know what it does to you? Does he know it loosens your inhibitions, making you that much easier to seduce or be seduced? Does he know that it makes you lose your cool, makes you laugh at the stupidest jokes and get far too close to people and makes you reveal all the shameful things you'll never admit to another soul? Does he know how weak you really are? Of course he doesn't, but he'll find out.

It's a trap, a voice in your head says on repeat, getting softer and softer with every breath that fills your lungs. You're cracking, splintering before him. Your pride overtakes your sensibilities.

“You want to challenge me? Then game on. First one to finish their drink is the loser.”

Harry licks his lips slowly. He likes where this is going. “And what penalty shall the loser pay?”

“Anything the winner wants for tonight,” you say, your lips curling into your own cruel smirk. “And I do mean _anything,_ Harry. But only for tonight. Tomorrow morning, everything is back to normal.”

Harry takes in a shuddery inhale. You both know you only save his first name for special occasions. There's a name that's even more intimate— _Harrier_ —but you've only spoken that name into existence two times in your life, for only the most special and most intimate moments the two of you have shared. By the look in Harry's eyes, he's trying to go for that lucky third.

“A bit too much power you're giving me, Kim. I've got an absolutely filthy mind,” Harry breathes.

“You're assuming you'll win, which you won't.” Your hand curls around the glass. Your other hand adjusts the glasses on your face, the disco lights glinting in your eyes. “You're not the only filthy cop at this table.”

Harry smiles broadly, and you realise bluntly that he is hoping for this, for you to rise up to the challenge. “Who goes first?” He asks.

“It's your idea. You go first.” You also don't want to give Harry the satisfaction of taking a sip first. Knowing him, he'll probably use this as an excuse to drink and then quickly get frisky. This is a trap, that tiny little voice in your head whispers.

“OK then.” He pauses thoughtfully for a few moments before asking, “Who's your first boyfriend?”

Your lips curl. Of course he starts with a hardball. Knowing him, it's only going to get harder from here on out. At least you can answer this one truthfully with no shame. “Gabin. Went to the same school as me. I was 16, and he was somewhere in that range. Lasted a grand total of 3 days before his parents found out. Then he was forced to move to a new school, all to avoid me 'tainting' their child.” You raise your eyebrows just in case it isn't obvious how ridiculous you find it.

Harry hums in acknowledgement but doesn't comment. He knows by now that any more details will be met with a big gulp from your glass. “Your question for me?”

“Do you remember having a boyfriend? Or having homoerotic thoughts about another man?”

“That's two questions,” Harry smirks.

You roll your eyes. “First man you ever had homoerotic thoughts about, if you remember.”

To your surprise he doesn't reach down for his glass. He relaxes into his seat, his eyes firmly on you. “That would be you.”

You scoff. “You're joking.”

“I'm not. If you asked me who was the first man I found attractive, that would be someone else, but if you're asking about erotic thoughts for a man, that'll be you, baby.”

Ah yes, that little nickname of 'baby'. You should hate it. You hated it when your previous relationships called you 'baby', but for some reason you can't hate Harry for using it. Maybe because you know he's got far sweeter things about you on his lips. Or maybe because he purrs it out like it's just a simple term of endearment, without malice or ill-intentions.

“And what erotic thoughts have you had about me?” You lean forward.

Harry chuckles. “You're gonna have to wait your turn. Now, what to ask you?” His dangerous smile returns to his face as he lowers his voice. “Are you thinking erotic thoughts about me right now?”

Your lips purse, you glance down at your drink, and take a sip. You wipe the beads of liquid from your lip. Knowing Harry, he probably already knows the answer, which is a great whopping _yes_. In your defense, he chose to wear the sexy jeans that perfectly flaunt his ass tonight. Seeing him peel out of those puppies is always a treat, like lightning zapping your spine.

Your mind wanders to the violet wand back at your apartment, and all the different ways those glowing electrodes could zap you. You could never use it on yourself, it wouldn't be the same, but…but maybe if you win this game, you might be able to get Harry to use it on you. Let him give you what you've been craving to feel for almost a decade.

Your eyes flicker back to Harry, who is sitting casually in his chair. His finger circles the rim of the glass, the disco lights lighting his face in a million different colours. He always calls you cool, but you have to admit, he has his cool moments too. He never notices them, which is probably what makes it so cool. You try hard to be consistently cool, but when Harry is cool, it's spontaneous but effortless.

“You've got something planned, don't you?” you ask.

Harry laughs. “I do, but you'll have to ask something more specific if you want to know, detective. And taht means it's my turn to ask a question now. And my question is: what are you thinking right now?”

At this very moment? You're thinking of Harry straddling your hips with your precious violet wand in his hand, letting the electricity crackle pleasantly against your skin. He'll push you down into the sheets, for once leaving you completely at his mercy. You've thought about it, letting Harry take control and leave you at the precipice of pain and pleasure, and every opportunity you get to tell him as much, it slips away. Not that you don't like being the one in charge. It's what you both like, what you're both used to, but you can't help but imagine what happens if you speak up about your fantasies. Harry trusts you unconditionally, just as you trust him unconditionally, but will he be ready for this next step? Can he give you what you want? Will he?

You take another, bigger sip of your drink and feel the heat creep down your throat and settle in your lungs. It's powerful alcohol. You will be drunk by the time you finish this one glass, if not tipsy.

You ignore the burn in your throat as you speak. “What is the purpose of this game, Harry? I know you've got a plan.”

“Do you really want to know?” He breathes.

Your face is impassive, but it must scream _yes, please tell me_ , because he laughs lightly and takes a sip from his glass, always looking at you, always gauging your reaction. The smallest frown escapes your lips.

He puts the glass down with a thud and shakes his head in surprise. “Whoo boy, that really is strong. Maybe I should order this more often.”

“Please don't. I much prefer sober Harry to drunk mess Harry.”

“Don't we all,” he murmurs, before brightening. “I will tell you this. I am looking forward to seeing drunk Kim. I wonder what kind of drunk you'll be.”

The pictures flickering in front of the detective's eyes are almost visible to you. He's compiling a list of different types of drunks and trying to categorise you into one of them. In his eyes you can make out angry drunk, sad drunk, karaoke drunk, affectionate drunk, and stupid drunk. You haven't been drunk enough times to know for sure, but if you have to make a guess, you're probably an uninhibited drunk.

“You won't see it, because I will win before you get the chance.” You take the glass and swirl the liquid in your hand.

The game continues on, with both sides telling embarrassing truths and ugly sips of rum. It's a strong drink, and with every sip you take, you can feel your body grow hotter and hotter. You've both consumed roughly half of your glasses and of course Harry, the fucking ex-alcoholic, he's completely unaffected. In fact, he seems disappointed that he’s not affected.

But you are affected, by fuck you are affected, and it takes all your mental facilities to not do something stupid. So you’re forced to keep telling truths so you don’t get drunk. But Harry, for once calm and collected, is enjoying seeing you squirm. And that’s when he starts to bring out the big guns.

“Tell me a secret, Kim. Something you’ve never told anyone else before.”

You’re acutely aware that this is Harry’s plan, and you fell right into it. You’re too inebriated to lie properly, and you’re also too inebriated to risk taking another sip of that dastardly rum without tarnishing your cool reputation.

“That’s not a question,” you slur a little. Your eyes catch on his neck and that too-tight necktie, and you remember briefly that one night of passion weeks ago when you curled your hands over Harry’s neck and squeezed until he gets off. You still fantasize about that night. He’s a horny bastard, but you are too.

Harry smiles as he pulls your glass away from your reach. “Maybe you should forfeit. What would the people think, seeing a cool and respectable Lieutenant like you get tipsy in a bar like this?”

You’re struck by the overwhelming need to pull Harry close and bite him on his neck. To kiss him until his lips are bruised. To mark him as yours, only yours, for tonight and the nights after. A stamp on bare skin that reads _Property of Kim Kitsuragi_.

“I’m not forfeiting,” you say, slower than normal. “My glass isn’t empty.”

“Then Kim, would you tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone?”

A sudden fit of giggles overwhelms you, and you chuckle behind your hand. It makes you appear more drunk than you appear to be, but your defenses have already weakened. Your inhibitions have evaporated into fine mist.

“I…come here.” You gesture Harry forward. He leans over the table, your lips but a breath away from his ear. You’re tempted to bite on his earlobe, suck on the shell of his ear, and it’s only the loud music and the even louder chatter of this public setting that stops you from giving in.

“You really want to know a secret?” You whisper.

Harry nods eagerly. He cannot hold in his excitement. “I do.”

“I’ve wanted to try electrosex for so long, but I’ve never had the chance.” Another fit of giggles overwhelms you, masking your shame. “Funny about that. You’ve got a choking kink, I’ve got an electricity kink. We’re two kinky bastards, aren’t we?”

Harry’s eyes darken dramatically, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the lights, the alcohol in your system, or something else. “Electrosex?”

“You get this little thing called a Violet wand that you stick in your underwear,” you broadly gesture what it looks like, “and there’s this attachment to it that you curl around your arm. Electrifies your touch quite literally. I’ve heard it can make sparks fly across your skin.” You sigh quietly. “Wish I knew if that was true.”

Harry frowns. “No one let you, or…?”

You shake your head. “You could kill someone if you’re not careful. It’s dangerous. My last romantic partners, I did not trust them with such a thing. To electrocute me, or be electrocuted. I wouldn’t trust them with my life.”

“But you still have it? You still want to try it?”

Your lips fall as you realize you’ve already answered more questions than you should. But you’ve already lost the game. You might as well lead the outcome to your favour. “If you’re asking if I trust you with this, the answer is yes. I trust you with my life. But only if you are willing.” It’s the most affectionate thing you’ve ever said in public to Harry, but you mean every word of it.

There’s a flicker in Harry’s eyes, a little like the swirling waters of a whirlpool, and then he takes his glass and empties it in one big swig. His lips curl into the widest grin he can muster. “Well, look at that. My drink is gone. Guess that makes me the loser, huh?”

You blink rapidly, unable to mask your surprise. Did Harry just throw the game for you?

Does that mean you’re the winner?

“Well, since I lost and all, I guess I have to do what you want for the rest of the night.” His face is still close to your face, his rough kissable lips mere centimeters away from your lips. “What do you want me to do, Kim?” He purrs.

“You may not like it,” you say softly. “It's not everybody's thing.”

“That depends. What do you have planned for me?” Harry's face somehow gets even closer to yours. His hot, boozy breath tickles your nose. “You did say _anything_ , didn’t you?”

You frown. “I did, but…”

“Kim, if you trust me, I’ll fulfill whatever wild fantasy you have. You fulfilled one of mine, the least I can do is help you fulfill one of yours, but only if you want me to.” He tugs your hands forward, his larger, warmer hands encapsulating your smaller gloved hands. “Think you know by now that I’m _very_ open minded. Benefits of total retrograde amnesia.”

You stare at your conjoined hands. Together, they feel warm but right. It will feel even more right if your gloves aren’t on your hands. “Well then, if that’s the case. My first order for the night is for you to walk me back home.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Walk, or…”

“Walk,” you repeat. “I need to walk the alcohol off.”

Harry grins, then downs your glass as well. He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You said you wanted to walk the alcohol off. Nothing about me.”

You shake your head. “You should be glad I am very patient with you.”

“Patient enough to wait for me to get sober so I can give my full consent, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi?” He teases.

“Come on, let's get out of here already,” you pull him up and out of the table, Harry still laughing at your expense. Of all the dicks to be your partner in the more romantic sense, why did it have to be the dick with a sense of humour?

The two of you leave the bar and head out into the brisk, dark streets of Revachol. At this time of night, the streets are empty, which emboldens Harry to be a bit more touchy-feely with you. He's got his arm around your waist and pulls you close, partly to steady your slightly-uneven stride and partly because he is looking for any excuse to hold you close. He turns his head to your exposed neck and sniffs audibly, taking in the scent of chestnuts and motor oil. You blame the alcohol for leaning into Harry, for once not caring about what people will think.

You want to hurry, that unbridled passion and excitement revving in your lungs, begging for the ignition to get your heart pumping and your blood racing. At the same time you want to be slow, to enjoy this tender moment in Harry's arms and also get sober enough to enjoy the inevitable bedroom activities that will follow. You want to remember this night.

Harry laughs suddenly yet softly, interrupting the dark quiet of the night. You turn to face him.

“So,” Harry says, “anything I need to know?”

“About what?”

“Come on, Kim, we both know what’s up. I know what your next order is.”

“Do you now,” you say, not even raising an eyebrow. Harry is telling the truth. He always does when it comes to you. “I do not want to push this onto you if you are not a fan. It can be dangerous without the right precautions.”

“Can’t be too bad, right? We know how good I am with my hands.”

Almost supranaturally good, you might add. He always seems to know when you want to be touched and how, whether he can stroke your cheek reverently or sink his stubby fingertips into your bottom. What he lacks in experience he makes up with a childlike eagerness to please and an uncanny knowledge of all the places you like to be touched. You hope to see it in action very soon.

“Perhaps,” you say, careful not to stroke his ego. “You will be working with electricity, and there is a chance you can get shocked yourself.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“You misunderstand. Tonight, I’m the one that’s getting shocked. You’re the one that will be doing the shocking.”

“Is that your next order?” Harry is grinning now. He’s excited, almost excessively so. You didn’t think this was his kink.

“You’ll just have to find out, detective.” A mischievous smile creeps up your face, too fast for most mortals to catch, but then again Harry is not most mortals. You wrap your arm around Harry’s waist, an innocent gesture between comrades if it isn't for lowering your hand to his ass. You squeeze. God, you need to convince him to wear the sexy jeans more often.

“May I say something? Since you're squeezing my ass?”

You raise one eyebrow at Harry.

“I really want to have fuck with you.”

You burst out laughing, hard and nasally, filling the streets with noise for just a moment. Harry joins in your laughter, a darker richer melody to complement your slightly higher voice. In that moment, you're just two guys walking down the street. Two pals coming out from the bar. Two detectives that are definitely not going to do some unspeakably homosexual things behind closed doors. 

The trip back to your apartment is uneventful and silent. Little touches alone kept the spark kindling from the bar all the way to your front door (It’s amazing what a handful of ass can do for both your libidos). You open the front door and close it behind you, and then Harry is immediately on the assault, kissing you senseless, sloppily. His lips are an assault rifle, his kisses bullets, and he does not rest until you are peppered full of marks. When he finally stops to reload, you fire back with your own barrage of bullets to his lips, his cheek, his double chin, his fat neck. You’re pulling him close so he can’t dodge your fire. He’s weak and helpless, letting his body get shred to pieces by your rapid fire lips.

“Kim,” he moans, not a plea for surrender but quite the opposite. You run your hands through his greasy hair, pull his head up, and kiss him at his trembling throat, right where he swallows.

“Second order for the night,” you manage to say through ragged breaths. “Take me to my bedroom and get everything ready.”

Harry’s smile is still teasing, but it’s undercut by the heavy breaths that escapes his lungs. “You could just say ‘ _take me, you rock and roll superstar_ ’.”

“But where would the fun be in that?” You smirk.

Harry reaches for you. You expect him to take your hand and pull you straight into the bedroom…

“Alley oop!”

…Only to be surprised when he lifts you into his strong, hairy arms, making you gasp in surprise. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing, leaving you dangling in thin air. You'd like to say Harry carrying you like a newly-wed bride doesn't turn you on, but it does. It really does.

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, that knowing glint in his eyes. You turn your head away. “Concentrate on getting us to the bed without dropping me, OK?”

You don't see his smirk, but you can practically feel it on your skin as he shoves the door open with his elbow and drops you down onto the bed, Harry tumbling on top of you. He finds your lips again and again, your combined breathes fogging up your glasses as he flings your jacket and shirt away. There's no patience in his touch, his hands gliding down your chest and stomach, kisses marking every age spot, every scar, and every blemish. When he's had his fill, he pulls your pants and underwear down in one swift motion, leaving you naked except for your glasses, your gloves, and your socks. You'd be nervous if it isn't for that appraising, lustful look in Harry's eyes as he drinks in your body. Before, that look was reserved for a couple of page three girls and the occasional well-endowed woman. Now, that look is yours and yours alone.

Carefully, Harry takes your glasses off of your face and places them on the bedside table. You peel off your gloves and place them next to your glasses.

“You're so cool,” he whispers.

“I'm not _that_ cool,” you say, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Clothes off, but keep the underwear. You'll need some place to put the wand.”

He gives you a nod and a wink, and then, because he’s truly embracing the disaster bisexual side of his identity, adds in some finger guns for good measure.

He takes off his clothes in front of you slowly, because he knows you like it when he’s slow, except tonight you want him to hurry up. You help his clumsy fingers unbutton his shirt and take the belt off his jeans. He slides them down extra slow for you, and you practically salivate at the peek of those muscular thighs and thick calves. When he’s down to his underwear (his nice briefs that you chose for him, because he doesn’t have any style even when it comes to underwear), you attack his throat, ravaging it with open mouthed kisses as your fingers curl into his hairy chest. You can taste the alcohol in his sweat, or maybe that’s just how he normally tastes, you aren’t sure. All you know is that he’s intoxicating you bit by bit, pulling you into his vice, his sin, his ecstasy.

You don’t fight it when he ruts into you, his clothed cock rubbing against your naked one with glorious friction. You wrap your arms around him, sink your teeth into your bottom lip, and shift your hips against Harry’s. He gasps sharply, and he shifts back against your hips with more force. He knows how to drive his hips against yours, giving you a taste of things to come, and you’re digging your nails into his back imagining all the wicked ways he might take you. From behind, from in front, on the bed or on your desk or near the window. You’re not imaginative like Harry is, but you’ve got prior experience to colour your mental images. You can only wonder how the future you will fantasize about tonight.

“Kim,” Harry moans against your lips. “Please tell me I can touch myself.”

“Did I give you that order?” You breathe.

Harry groans. “Come on, give me something. I don’t want cum stains on my nice underwear.”

You chuckle. “Well then, you’ll just have to give me what I want quickly.” You gesture to the bedside table. “There’ll be a wand, a cable, and some special lube in that drawer.”

Harry moves away from you, and you stifle a groan at the missing body heat. He returns with the items in front of you, and without your prompting inserts the cable correctly into the violet wand and turns it on. You can hear the crackle of electricity for a second before Harry turns it off. He’s holding onto the wand carefully, as if analyzing it with his fingers before putting it away. He takes the lube, squirts a healthy amount onto his fingers, and presses them into your ass, one by one.

You can’t help the shaky breath that escapes your lungs. Harry’s fingers are not long but by Elysium they are thick. He has this magic way of opening you up that you don’t claim to understand, and perhaps don’t even want to. If only the world knows that the Human Can Opener is good at opening people up in more ways than one.

“Mmm, fuck, Harry, right there,” you moan.

“Such a tight ass for me. Wanna ride it all night long. Wanna make you feel so good.”

“You will,” you say, unable to talk normally without lowering your voice. The lust in your voice is so thick it can be an accent. “Hurry up. I need more.”

He slides a second finger, then a third, opening you up more and more until you can take all three comfortably. His other hand rests on your hip, his thumb making small circles as he gazes down upon you with affection. What you will give for Harry to slide those sweaty fingers into your mouth and suck on them. What you will give for the chance to dip your tongue into Harry's sensitive webbing, making him explode with orgasmic emotion. It's a tantalising prospect, but for another day. One kink at a time.

“What’s the difference between this special lube and the one we’ve been using until now?” Harry asks.

“Conducts electricity better.” You stop to catch your breath when his finger brushes against your prostate. “M-makes me more…sensitive to the wand.”

“Sounds sexy,” he chuckles. “I can hardly wait.”

“You don't have to wait,” you say. “Wrap the cable around your arm and turn the wand on.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says, curiously out of breath.

You're sure by now that Harry know you like it when you call him sir, if the way your dick twitches is something to go by. You hear a low hum and a slight buzz as Harry flicks the wand on, stuffing it inside of his underwear. He rolls his shoulders, letting a soft noise out in mild surprise. With a flick of the switch, both the air and Harry are charged with energy. You can feel it, it makes the hairs on your back stand in excitement. Slowly he reaches a fingertip towards your stomach, and you moan as the electricity zaps your skin. It feels like being pricked and burned at the same time, activating long-dormant nerves to send their message to your spine. And that message is _fuck yes give it to me_. It's everything you can hope for and more, and this is all from the lightest graze of a fingertip.

Harry lowers his dark eyes onto you. His lips curl into a smile. The tips of your ears flushes red as he settles closer to you, breathing you in. His hands hover over your thighs, the low thrum of energy making the hairs on your legs stand up for attention, not unlike your leaking cock, which is painfully hard and currently settled near your belly button. Your breath is in your throat, waiting for the assault on your senses, but Harry continues staring down at you. He's waiting for the go signal, for the girl with the checkered flag to wave her flag and send all the motor carriages down to their fiery doom and destruction.

He's waiting on your order. It's just on the tip of your tongue. One word to dictate the pace of this dark and quiet night. One word to make him completely and utterly yours.

“Please,” you whisper.

He licks his lips, rubs his palms together, and then rakes his fingertips down your thighs. Lightning shoots up into your brain and you curl your hands into the covers. Harry barely gives you time to breathe, to think, as he slides his hand closer and closer to your groin. He dips down into your inner thighs and you can't help but open them a bit more for him, giving him more space to work his magic. Because his touch is magic. It's electricity, raw and untamed, guided along only by the dexterous movements of Harry's fingertips, and boy does he know how to guide it. Little pinpricks with his fingertips, then smoothing his palm over your skin, the charge pulsating evenly, as if in tune to the rhythm of your lungs.

His touch gets so dangerously close to your cock. He smooths his fingers over your little pubic hairs and you sharply inhale, waiting for him to curl his hand around your cock and touch you like you so desperately crave. Instead, he pulls away, shifting his hands up to your taut stomach. You groan in frustration.

“Harry…” You warn. “Below the belt. Only touch me below the belt.”

“Anything else, sir?” He's enjoying himself tonight. It must be the alcohol still in his system. He's usually too nervous without something in his system to take his mind off the world. It'll take a while before he can feel normal having completely sober sex. Hopefully, you can help him out, day by day, moment after moment.

“Take the wand up to the next setting and— _nngh_ —give me a handjob already.”

“Shit, Kim,” he murmurs in awe. He cranks the setting up on the violet wand higher and curls his fingers around your cock.

Your back arches, a weak mewl escaping your lips. The sensation burns now, but it's a good burn, a lasting burn that spreads throughout your veins like wildfire. Harry strokes you tentatively at first, waiting for your reaction, and once you hastily nod at him for more—gosh, you need _more_ —he begins to stroke you all the way from the base to the tip, twisting his grip near the head. It's sloppy, just as you imagine Harry masturbates, but the sensations are heightened from these electric pinpricks, and you can barely keep your eyes open to watch as Harry cracks your shell open like an egg and pulls out these guttural noises from your throat.

A part of you might be scared, watching Harry destroy your defenses so easily, but he smiles up at you with honest affection that you can't help but give a strained but genuine smile back.

Harry's hand leaves your cock for a second to flick the setting on the wand even higher. He leans forward and gives a messy kiss to your leaking tip. Electricity spikes through your body and shoots straight into your brain. An ugly groan fills the air and you realize faintly that this ugly sound is coming from your mouth.

“F-fuck, Harry.” Those are the only two words you can say now; _fuck_ and _Harry_. Stringed together _, fuck Harry_ and _Harry fuck_ both sound like very tantalising prospects.

“Kim,” Harry moans. There's a desperate need in his voice, but also delight, and before you can decode the meaning of this observation, Harry dips down and takes you into his hot, electric mouth. You don't know how the electricity is making his lips buzz, just that it does. One hand strokes you, a little bit faster than before while the other plays with your balls, his tongue licking the tip. It's all so sensitive, and it's by sheer willpower alone that you don't buck into Harry's mouth and make him choke on your cock even though you really _really_ want to. You want to mess Harry up as much as he’s messing you up. It’s only fair.

Harry presses deep and gags loudly, pulling his mouth away from your cock to recover. He’s only given a moment to catch his breath before you take a fistful of his hair and force him back down. “Slower, you gotta take it slower. Take the tip into your lips first. Swirl your tongue around it. Taste it.”

Harry’s glittering eyes stare at you for a second before dipping down to your swollen cock. He does as you order, and lightning shoots off before your eyes.

“G-good,” you shudder. “Now, take it in slowly, a little bit at a time.”

Harry plunges in, taking more and more of you. You breathe in deeply, quickly, his electric mouth zapping you in all the right places. You’re twitching into his mouth, leaking so much into his mouth, and he’s licking it all up.

“That’s it,” you ruffle his hair. “T-there. N-now try take all of it.”

Harry does, and the reward for his patience is boundless heat and a whole new set of nerves firing and the most obscene groan to ever come from your lips. Harry moans against your cock, humming about the pleasure you both share.

“Shit, you’re amazing, Kim,” Harry moans.

“Such a fast learner. Could suck cock like a pro one day.” You tentatively pull his swollen lips away from you and card your fingers into his hair.

“Let me make you feel good,” Harry rasps, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

“Then fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He overeagerly takes his cock out through the hole in his briefs and sighs as the brisk air wraps around his member. His briefs was doing a poor job at hiding his arousal, but it’s different when you can finally see it. It’s engorged, red as his face, and leaking even more than your cock is. You commit that image of his pulsating, filthy cock to memory as you flip over to your stomach and lie your head between your arms. Your cock points back towards Harry, leaving wet trails on the covers below. You can feel Harry raise an eyebrow at you making a mess of your own bed but stifle the need to explain yourself. He doesn’t need to know washing day is tomorrow. You need to have some level of mystery around you.

“No condom?”

You blink rapidly. Shit, you forgot about it. “The…latex wouldn't conduct it, would it...” you murmur, more to yourself than Harry.

Harry sighs quietly. “I can get the dildo if you don't wanna go bare, but…” he trails off, uncertain how you will react.

“Harry, we can go bare. I can handle it.” Quickly you turn your head away. “J-just for tonight. Only for tonight.”

Harry makes a noise that sounds like he’s shrugging and jumping for joy at the same time, and then he inches closer to you. His hands are on your ass, the electricity sparking over the sensitive flesh like firecrackers. You’ve known for a long time that you have an ass as flat as a plate, and for once it works to your benefit, with no pesky fat to mute these pleasurable sparks. His thumb slides down your crack, pressing lightly into your hole, and you shudder audibly. He works you a little bit, moaning at the erotic display you’re making for him. You’re shaking your hips, quivering with his touch, begging for more with just your body. Harry digs his greedy fingers into your ass and slides his hips forward.

The tip of his cock touches your hole and lightning ravages your spine. “Fuck, Harry, please…”

“You want me so bad, don’t you? Such a naughty boy, Kim. Want me to fuck you that bad?”

You stiffen because you’re sure you didn’t tell Harry about _that_ kink, but there’s no point hiding your arousal now. Thank Elysium he can’t see your face. “I-I might,” you admit. It takes all your will power not to add _I might be a naughty boy._

“Then say it,” he whispers.

You glance back at Harry over your shoulder and give the smallest smile you can manage. In the sultriest tone you can produce, you say, “I want to have fuck with you, Harry.”

He groans in embarrassment. His cock sags in shame. “I regret telling you that, you know?”

“Come on, say it. We both know you want to. Or should I make it an order?” You raise an eyebrow.

His bright red cheeks make his bashful smile all the more brighter. He flicks the wand up to its highest setting and then presses his hips forward, slowly breaching that tight ring of muscle and making you gasp. “You want me to say it? Then I’ll say it properly. I want to fuck you so badly, Kim. I want to fuck you until you can’t breathe. I want to fuck you so much you won’t be able to think of anyone else but me. I want to fuck you all the way to Disco Zero.”

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment, but you swear you’ve never seen Harry this intense before. This is Harry the Lieutenant, Harry the Commander, Harry the cop.

If you weren’t hard before, you are now.

Harry frowns, reverting back to his normal, confused state. “W-was that too much?”

“Khm, it was a bit…strong.” It’s strong, but fuck does it turn you on. You’re all but ready for him to ride the Kim mobile, if he’ll just put his foot down on the accelerator already.

“So you don’t like it?”

“I-I didn’t say that.” You already regret being on your stomach because you want to pull him down and kiss him on the lips and force him to drive into you, deep and hard and fast. Right now, all you can rely on are your words. “Just give me what I want already.”

“And what’s that?” His tone is innocent but mischievous.

You moan into the pillow. “Just fuck me. Fuck me already, Harry, and make me goddamn cum, or I swear to god I’ll— _haaah.”_

That goddamn smirk is on his face. You know it. But he drives into you so perfectly and the electricity stings so madly and the taboo nature of doing this all bareback is so erotic and it’s like the holy Innocence herself has blessed you with her radiant, hot, sticky light. Harry plows forward with no regard for you or the bed, filling you completely, stretching you until you’re already hanging by a thread.

His voice is breathy, tickling your ear. “That good enough?”

You swallow tightly and nod. “M-more,” you manage.

He thrusts deeper into you, driving harder. It’s the perfect pace and strength, and coupled with the electricity that sparks inside you with every thrust, you’re already losing control. If there was a mirror in front of you, you might see the dark crimson flush drip down your cheeks and coat your shoulders, the tears borne from pain and pleasure beading your face, your knitted eyebrows highlighted by sweat. Together they paint a picture of your lust, your servitude to this cock fucking you so divinely. They paint a picture of your weakness.

And you’ve already gone past the event horizon. Harry is picking up pace, grasping onto your hips as he goes for the ride of his life, and you can’t stop the lewd moans and groans and " _Harry"_ that escapes your throat. You’re loud, uninhibited, and utterly shameful as you roll your hips backwards, trying to get him to hit that perfect angle and maximize your pleasure. When you both find it, it’s a storm in a bottle; wild, ragged lightning shoots off in all direction within your body and your back arches as you groan, long and low.

“H-Harry, fuck, please.” Your voice is pitifully weak, but Harry pays it no mind.

“Gonna cum inside. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine,” Harry breathes.

You feel his cock twitch inside you and you shiver. You can’t even tell him off for being so disgusting because you know that you’re already his. “D-don’t you dare stop.”

“Is that an order?”

You groan. “Harry, yes, it’s an order. Make me cum already, fuck me harder.”

You’re in no position to give orders anymore. You’re completely dependent on Harry, arching into him, rolling your hips back into him because only he can give you what you so desperately crave. If he were any of your other ex-boyfriends, he might torture you, keep you strung up like this and begging for more, make you cry in need and desperation, satisfy his own needs and leave you unfulfilled. Defenseless like this, you are completely and utterly at Harry’s mercy.

But Harry is not an ex-boyfriend. Harry is Harry, and he wants you just as much as you want him. His electric lips press at your spine as he drives into you fast and furious, as if the electricity is energizing him as well. Your body is electric, and all that pent-up energy can’t stay inside you. It has to be released, out into the wild, to the stars and the pale and the world beyond Revachol. It builds and builds, the current getting stronger, too strong for your brittle body to contain. It can't stay, it won't stay. You're locked and loaded and the finger is on the trigger. You just need Harry to take the shot, and you already know how amazing his aim is.

“H-H-Harry,” you rasp weakly. You're shaking so much. 

“B-baby, shit,” Harry groans against your skin. 

Harry pulls the trigger and sparks fly before your eyes as all the energy in your body releases out onto your now-sticky bed. Not a second later and that cock in your ass twitches violently, and suddenly you’re filled with creamy, sticky white fluid. He’s filled you to the brim and beyond. It drips down your quivering ass to the bed in what is no doubt a very sexy sight for Harry. You want to say something, anything to regain control, to regain your cool. Instead, you collapse fully onto the bed and sigh.

Harry flips the switch of the violet wand off and puts it back into its usual drawer. He looks down as his cum-stained underwear and chucks it away before turning you around onto your back. You whimper, arms instinctively covering your face, but Harry pushes them away with ease. You can’t put a fight. Not anymore. Not for Harry.

You see your reflection in his eyes and it’s everything you feared. You’re smiling like an idiot, eyes crinkled, throat tight; the very picture of weakness. You’re less a man, more like a pile of flesh and bone, except you can’t even feel your bones at this moment. You’re goo, ready to be molded or discarded, boneless and helpless against this behemoth of a man staring at you.

Harry makes a wordless noise, lowers himself down, and begins to lick your cock clean. He doesn’t need to. It’s not something either of you are expected to do, and you are sure neither of you have the energy for another round, but he does this for you anyway.

Somehow, you know what he wants to say with this gesture. He cares about you. He respects you. He truly loves you, for all your strengths and faults. He wants to be better for you so he can finally make you happy.

Something inside you breaks. Your defenses come crashing down as you feel the tears line your eyes.

The air shifts and you blink rapidly as Harry pulls his lips away from your cock. He stares at you, not in confusion or disgust for this display of weakness, but affection and love. He kisses both your eyelids, then your cheek. His hands rest on your hips, massaging you.

You want to reassure Harry but your throat warbles. “I-I don’t know what is coming over me,” you admit. You don’t cry, you never cry, especially not during the most mindblowing, earthshattering sex you've ever had.

Harry chuckles, ready to pull a joke, but one look at you is enough for him to take pause. His lips dip into a frown. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t like, did I?”

“N-no,” you croak. God, even your voice is affected. You rub your wrist at your eyes. “I-I just…I’m happy. Really.” Softer you add, “It was good.”

Harry takes your hand and presses his lips to your palm. You want to wrap your arms around his body and pull him close so he’ll never have to see you cry. “You sure you’re not just saying that?”

“Harry, you just fulfilled one of my fantasies. You were great, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just me overreacting and ruining tonight and—”

You’re interrupted by a pair of lips descending onto yours. A part of you wants to fight it, to pull away, but those lips slide slowly against yours, coaxing your mouth open, and you can't help but submit. You might as well submit fully, you think, as you wrap your arms around Harry’s neck and drag him down with you, messing up his stomach with your cum-slicked one.

It’s a slow dance that your tongues take, and when the song comes to its climax, you swear the shifting slivers peeking through your curtain are disco lights. Your lips pull away with a pop. You swipe at your mouth. “Harry, don’t kiss me with tongue when you have a mouth full of cum.”

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly.

Harry kisses your jaw and your neck, pausing for your approval. You roll your eyes but give the smallest nod, and he brightens considerably as his lips nibble gently at your throat. A bottle of lotion that you don’t remember Harry picking up is squirted into his hands, massaging you where he stung you the most.

“If I may say something?”

You lower your head to meet his gaze.

“You’re always cool, Kim.”

You’re incapable of blushing. If you were however, you would be now. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I know you’re always concerned about how you appear. You want to be cool, you need to be cool, and being electrocuted doesn’t suit your definition of cool, does it? But you are cool, Kim. Everything about you is, even if you don’t think so.”

Your red rimmed eyes begins to water. “I just stopped myself from crying, and you’re going to make me start again.”

“Then cry if you want to.” He holds your cheek tenderly. “It won’t change my opinion on you.”

You sniffle as you hold his head close to your chest, breathing in and out his presence. “S-stop reading my mind,” you choke back.

Harry doesn't say anything more. He curls into you, his eyes drifting closed, his weight comfortably pressing down on top of you. He's like a big, hairy teddy bear that you can hug and confide all your shameful secrets to. Maybe one day you will. But for now you hold on to him, closing your eyes and taking in the scent of your combined lust and the sounds of Harry's slowed breathing.

When you wake up the next morning, you're completely clean and Harry is no longer by your side, as if the previous night is but a dream. That dreadful feeling in your chest doesn't last long, because Harry strides through the door, naked as the day he was born, and sits down right next to you on the bed. He's smiling softly, teasingly. You already know what he's going to say before he says it.

“I slept in, didn't I.”

Harry nods. “09:30 already. It's a good thing we don't have work today.”

He settles closer to you, lying down so you can curl your arms around him. You should get out of bed, but you find you don't have the volition to get up just yet. Your hand curls into the thick mane on Harry's chest, breathing in the lemon-scented soap on his skin.

“What shall we do today?” Harry asks.

You've got a few ideas but before you might voice them, you pause. “I should be asking you that. I did say you only had to follow my orders for the night only. Nothing about the morning after.”

“You sure? I've got seriously nasty shit on my mind. You'd hate me if I forced you to do whatever I want.”

Perhaps he's right. Months ago, you wouldn't dare let him get this close, physically and emotionally. But he is here now, and you've already broken down crying in front of him. It's embarrassing, shameful, but he's still here, still watching your sunrise with the same look of wonder, still by your side. If you give yourself up to him, he'll take care of you, if you let him. He won't hurt you. He'll treat you with the respect you deserve and more.

He loves you. He'll never have the courage to say it properly when sober, but it's obvious from what he does and says. If you're honest to yourself, you probably love him too.

“I don't have to be the one in control _all_ the time,” you say. “I don't mind you taking the reins every now and then.”

He turns around, noses to nose, smile against smile. “You sure? You _really_ sure?”

You roll your eyes but kiss him softly on his chin. “I'm sure.” Your fingers tangle in his wet-slicked hair. “I'll do whatever you want today. I told you before. I trust you, _Harrier_.”

His face is like the moon, mutable, pale, but gorgeous. His smile brightens, reflecting your warmth and light back onto you. He rolls you onto your back and settles near your thighs, raking his fingers softly against your sides. If you could blush, you will be at this moment, but you don't mind. Harry will treat you right.

And then his expression shifts into something more mischievous. The shit-eating grin reappears, identical to the one from last night. Identical to the one he gave before he made up his little game.

Before you can take back your words, Harry reaches down and blows raspberries onto your stomach. You can't help but groan and laugh at the same time.

“H-Harry, stop!” You yelp.

But your cries of protest go unanswered as he assaults your poor stomach with his wet lips and his ticklish fingers. Every muscle in your body goes taut as you laugh and cry, shaking against him as he giggles childishly into your skin. If Harry notices the tears streaming down your face, he doesn't say a thing. He gives you an excuse to cry, and you do, gripping onto the covers as Harry has his wicked, childish way with you. 

This is the last time you let Harry take the lead, you tell yourself for the first time in your life. This will not be the last time you say it however. Far from it. 


End file.
